


Comfort

by believesinponds



Series: Domestic Bliss [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: But not sexual, M/M, brief and vague reference to past child abuse, description of panic attack aftermath, mick and len get naked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/believesinponds/pseuds/believesinponds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick takes care of Len after a panic attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Description of panic attack aftermath (from an observer’s POV).

Mick was expecting a quiet evening. A few members of the team were off on a small mission and the rest of them were either out exploring or lounging around on the ship.

(Mick was lounging.)

He heard a bit of a commotion down the hallway but didn't think too much of it--the Hawks tended to squabble loudly--until Ray Palmer rushed into the little dining area a minute later and, slightly out of breath, said, "Sara and Len are back."

Mick dropped his spoon into the half-empty bowl of soup and stood. He didn’t like the note of panic in Palmer’s voice. "What happened?"

"I don't know," the man said, his eyes wide. "But Len didn't look too good."

"Shit." Mick headed straight for their room, cursing under his breath the whole way, and burst through the door just as Sara was turning on the shower in the en-suite bathroom. Len was already undressed, huddled in on himself next to the wall. _Shit_ , Mick thought again.

He stripped quickly, not caring to preserve his modesty in front of Sara (who had already seen them both naked anyway) or Palmer (who was averting his gaze). When he was fully naked he moved to Len’s side and gently took his hand, pulling him toward the shower.

"What happened?" he asked Sara, his words quiet but abrupt.

"We saw... _him_ ," she said. Mick knew immediately who she was referring to. "And it wasn't good. He was in the middle of--Lisa, she was--,” Sara let out a pained huff of air. “It was bad, Mick."

"Fuck," Mick muttered. He turned to Len, who didn’t seem to be processing their conversation, and then back to Sara. "I'll take it from here. Turn the lights off on your way out."

The overhead lights flicked off, activating a softly glowing nightlight next to the door. Mick was too caught up in getting Len safely into the shower to thank her for her help, but he was sure Sara understood his gratitude.

"Come on, Lenny," he said as soon as they were alone. He had been dealing with Len's panic attacks for years, even before they were together, so he knew the routine. Mick guided him under the stream of warm water and watched his shoulders relax minutely. He moved one hand to Len's cheek and placed the other firmly on his chest, muttering, "Breathe."

One of Len's hands came up to clutch Mick's, pressing it harder into his chest. Mick increased the pressure and asked, "Better?"

Len nodded.

"Good. Keep breathing, Lenny, just like that." Mick modeled deep breaths for him, nodding and murmuring encouraging words as Len followed along. After several minutes of breathing, Len seemed more alert. He closed his eyes and leaned into Mick's hand, still resting on his face, and then huffed out a humorless laugh.

"Sorry," he whispered, almost too quiet for Mick to hear. (It didn't matter--Mick knew what he was going to say before he said it.)

"Don't be stupid, Lenny. You have nothing to apologize for."

Len took another deep breath and then let out a long sigh. "I feel pretty stupid."

Mick narrowed his eyes. "Well you're not. C'mere," he said, pulling Len forward into an embrace. He tucked Len's face into the crook of his shoulder, adjusted their position so that the water would still hit Len's back, and then closed his own eyes with a sigh. "You okay?"

He felt Len shrug in response.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Len shook his head.

"That's fine. Sara told me what happened anyway."

Len squeezed him tighter.

Mick smoothed his palms over Len's skin, water briefly pooling between his fingers before spilling down the backs of his hands. They stayed like that for a few minutes, silent and contemplative, until Len pulled away just enough to say that he wanted to sit down.

Mick nodded, expecting it. He released his grip on Len and lowered himself carefully to the floor of the tub, leaning back against the tile wall. Len followed, crouching down first and then sitting between Mick's legs. (The large tub had been one of their conditions for joining the team.) Len’s back was pressed to Mick’s chest, head resting against his shoulder, and he pulled Mick's arms around him once again, pressing one hand to his chest and intertwining his long fingers with the other.

Mick held him close.

"I cried in front of Sara," Len said after a moment.

Mick pressed his lips to the top of Len's head and hummed, moving his thumb against Len’s wet chest hair. Len didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to--Mick understood.

“She’s not gonna think any less of you.”

Mick could feel Len’s huff. He held him tighter in response.

“Sara’s been through her own version of hell,” Mick said. “She gets it.”

That was clearly the right thing to say. He could feel the tension leaving Len’s body, his muscles gradually relaxing, and smiled. They sat quietly while Len decompressed, the water a soothing presence in the dimly-lit room.

When Len's breathing was even and the water was no longer warm, Mick hit a button on the wall to turn the stream off. (He usually rolled his eyes at the fancy futuristic technology on this ship, but sometimes it was actually useful.) Len stirred and Mick rubbed his chest slowly, whispering, “Come on, big guy, let's go to bed.”

It took a little maneuvering to get out, and Len being half-asleep made it a little more complicated, but soon enough they were both wrapped in fluffy robes and heading back into the bedroom.

“You want pajamas?” Mick asked, rummaging through their dresser for Len’s favorite set.

“Just pants,” was the sleepy reply.

Mick found the blue ones with little snowflakes and grabbed a plain red pair for himself. He pulled on his own underwear and pants, helped Len into his, and tossed the robes toward the hamper in the corner. (They fell about three feet short, but Mick would deal with it in the morning.)

He pushed Len down gently and tucked the big comforter around him before shutting off the lights and crawling into bed behind him.

“Mick?” Len’s voice was low and sleepy.

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

Mick wrapped an arm around him in response, pressing his chest into Len’s back.

“Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“...I love you.”

They didn't say it often--didn't need to, not when it was implied with every word and deed--but it was...nice, sometimes.

He grunted and pulled Len a little closer.

“Love you, too, Lenny.”


End file.
